Solace
by Jem Kallop
Summary: Marik is alone in the apartment at night, plagued by nightmares as he tries to sleep. He longs for the company of his partner, who is taking a long time to come home. Both are full of troubled memories, but they find some solace in each other. Very fluffy thiefshipping oneshot.


**Here is a fluffy thiefshipping oneshot. It is written for the lovely LarxychanXII (Happy birthday!) and I really hope you like it. There is some serious fluff here. ^_^ It is set after Battle City. Enjoy! - Jem**

It was late at night, and Marik was tired.

He lay on his side against the pillows, his thoughts racing even as he tried to calm his mind, his whole body raging for sleep. His eyes refused to open, but images constantly raced through his skull; half-imagined daydreams, thoughts of the day, unanswered questions and unwanted wishes, things that he knew could never be, things that he wished never were. Even lying here, under the familiar blankets in the life he had always dreamed of having, his nightmares never quite left him. Marik still feared being alone in the dark.

The curtains were always left open a crack, the radio always playing. Marik couldn't abide the silence, almost as much as he couldn't stand to sleep with his bedroom door shut; feeling trapped was not good for him, as he was coming to learn. It had ever been so, since he first fled his previous life, but never was it more apparent than at night. Marik hissed angrily as he shifted again, turning onto his back. He hated that he could still remain so affected, despite his best efforts to forget. Some issues will not stay forgotten.

Marik squeezed his already-closed eyes, concentrating instead on the inner workings of his body, in the vain hope that they would help him drift off. He drew in one long breath, feeling all the muscles within him shifting at that simple movement; his stomach rose with his diaphragm, his chest filling with air, his legs and head relaxing further into the mattress. Exhaling slowly, Marik tugged the blankets further up under his chin, curling them around his resting form. The radio crackled on in the background as darkness covered Marik's vision, its constant drone reminding him that he was not still stuck back in the tomb, that he was out, that he was free. He had done it.

Still, the memories would return.

Marik's sleep was constantly plagued by nightmares of his past life; his father, the Rod, the time his dark half took over, getting tossed into the Shadow Realm with no hope of reclaiming his body ... Marik shuddered, pulling himself up out of the darkness and flinging his eyes open. He would never sleep like this.

Although, that last thought ... That wasn't half bad. Getting thrown into the Shadow Realm had been horrible, of course, and the fear and panic that accompanied it had at first seemed never-ending. But, then, _he_ had arrived. He had remained by Marik's side throughout his time in the dark Realm, reminding Marik that all was not lost, that they still existed, somewhere. And when Marik had been dragged back out of the shadows by his darker half, forced into that duel with the Pharaoh that eventually ended in him gaining his body once more, Marik had not forgotten. He had used the last of his Shadow Magic to free all the souls trapped by his dark side – all of them, including _his._ And whilst Marik had pretended to side with the Pharaoh, grovelling sickeningly over his darker side's evil actions, Marik had remained true to his purpose. And once they had all escaped, Marik had gone back to _him._

So all was not dark; not yet. Marik turned a little under the sheets, edging onto his side and gazing through the crack in the curtains. It was dark out, the Egyptian sky clouded by the lights from the city, but Marik was not quite ready to sleep yet. The other side of the bed was cold, and shadows still plagued Marik's dreams; even whilst sleeping out under the stars, it would seem that Marik could never fully escape the horrors of the tomb. His skin crawled and Marik drew in a hissing breath, releasing it slowly through his teeth. With thoughts like _that_, it would be a miracle if he ever slept.

Both occupants of this flat often had disturbed nights, though. It wasn't unusual for Marik to wake sweating and roll over to find a deep brown gaze silently assessing him, pale arms slowly snaking around his waist and cold lips brushing his forehead. Marik was unused to such gentle touches, but he accepted them gladly and gave back what he could. Marik knew that the other sought any kind of touch; being trapped in a cold piece of metal for thousands of years leaves skin craving any kind of physical contact. For Marik, touch had always meant pain and hurt, but this was different. It was a learning curve, and they still had many issues to resolve, but it was a journey that Marik was a glad to be a part of. Each touch was one step more out of the tomb.

The bed was empty now, though, and Marik was tired. He wished the other would hurry up and get home. Marik knew that he was planning something, and he was busy setting everything in motion, but that didn't stop the fact that Marik struggled to sleep in an empty, dark room, and that the other knew this. He should be home by now. He shouldn't leave Marik waiting for as long as he had.

Groaning slightly, Marik turned back away from the window and cast his eyes around the cold, shadow-filled room. Giving up on sleep for the moment, Marik tossed the covers away from his body and clambered slowly to his feet, relishing in the feeling of soft carpet under his toes and the sharpness of the air against his bare arms. He strode quickly out of the open door and into the tiny hallway, pausing for a moment to stretch before he headed into the kitchen. The cupboards were mostly empty – Marik made a mental note to remind the other to go shopping – but there was a tiny bit of ice cream left in a pot buried deep in the freezer. Marik pulled it out with a sigh, grabbing a spoon from the drawer and crossing the hallway again to enter the living room. He collapsed onto one end of the couch, leaving the door open so that he could see the front door, and flicked the TV on with a casual wave of the remote, digging his spoon into the pot. A DVD they had left on from earlier that day started playing automatically, so Marik watched that for a while, shifting restlessly as he tried to forget. He had turned all the lights on, so at least he wasn't sat in darkness, but the emptiness of the flat was still getting to him. He hoped that the other would return soon.

The DVD soon ended, the ice cream ran out, and Marik was still alone. He jigged impatiently on the sofa, squeezing the empty pot in his hands, the spoon lying forgotten on the sofa. Marik chewed on the inside of the cheek, trying to calm the unreasonable panic he could feel rising in his chest – yes, this was one of the longest times that Bakura had stayed out, but it didn't mean he was in trouble, and it didn't mean he wasn't returning to Marik. His business must just be taking longer than usual, or perhaps he had allowed his host some time outside; it would make sense. There were several perfectly good explanations as to why Bakura was not yet home, but none of them helped to calm Marik's jumping nerves.

Hissing, Marik crunched the pot until it was a cracked and broken mush between his palms. Anger flaring when he saw it, Marik chucked it furiously across the room, relishing in the wet _splat_ that sounded when it hit the opposite wall. It hung there for a long moment before squelching a slow path back down towards the floor, leaving a trail of mucky white down the dark wallpaper. Marik felt a smirk pull at his lips, laughter bubbling in his throat at the thought of what the other would say when he finally dragged his ass back home:_ what, you like to leave a mess for me to clean up? Did you want me to gut you, idiot?_ Marik bit back a snort, grinning. If Bakura didn't want him ruining the flat, then Bakura shouldn't stay out this late at night.

Marik climbed restlessly to his feet, wandering from room to room as the hours stretched on. The clock above the mantelpiece informed him that it was getting on for 2am, and Marik could feel the weariness growing in his bones the longer he spent up and moving. His muscles were aching – Bakura and he had gone out 'shopping' earlier that day, and they had been forced to flee the markets rather urgently, resulting in a couple of pulled muscles and what was probably a sprained ankle. Bakura had laughed at him, Marik remembered, calling him a wuss and ridiculing his lack of stamina. Marik had snapped back some retort about it being a wonder Bakura could still move at all, considering his old age, and Bakura had pounced on him, effectively quieting his pouting with his skilled, pale lips.

Lips that were most definitely _absent_ now.

Marik ended up back in the bedroom, his fingers flexing and clenching into fists as he edged to the window. The curtains were still open a crack, the radio still blaring, but the noise was no longer enough to keep Marik's nightmares at bay. He shuddered, throwing the curtains fully open and gazing out at the city, sprawled five floors below him; the streets were mostly silent at this time, but the odd shadow moved, the occasional car drifting silently between the buildings. Marik stared out, losing himself in the city for as long as he could before the images of tombs and knives and flames and whips imprinted themselves onto his eyelids again, and Marik slammed the curtains shut, turning away with a violent pivot. It had been a while since he struggled through a night this bad.

Marik paced the flat for another hour, his fists leaving imprints of nails in his palms. Agitation drove his mind into overdrive, memories mixing with imagined horrors and resulting in a grotesque mix of danger and anger and sadness. Marik was getting tired, which didn't help. His eyelids were heavy, a weight pounding against his skull and pressing behind his eyes, driving him back into the living room where he curled up in the darkness. The TV was on once more, stuck on some late-night quiz show this time. Marik curled into his corner and allowed the sounds to wash through his skull, his eyes slipping shut without his realising and his mind shivering into a restless, unsatisfying sleep.

Such was how Bakura found him, when he finally slipped through the front door at four in the morning. He paused in the doorway of the living room, taking in the blaring TV, ice-cream-stained wall, and shivering form on the sofa in one quick glance. Bakura sighed. He dropped his bag in the hallway, running a palm across his face, shaking out his matted hair before edging into the living room. At least Marik was actually asleep for once. Releasing a low sigh, Bakura slipped to the blonde Egyptian's side, snaking one arm behind his shoulders and the other under his knees, lifting him carefully from the sofa. Marik woke immediately, his violet eyes flying open with panic in their depths until he met Bakura's calm brown gaze.

Marik's eyes narrowed.

"You bastard!" Marik pulled one hand into a fist, connecting it with Bakura's shoulder harshly, eliciting a slight grunt. "You stayed out forever, and you know I can't sleep..."

"It wasn't 'forever'," sounded Bakura's sardonic reply. "And I'm sorry that your poor majesty couldn't get his beauty sleep. I'm back now, aren't I?"

Marik glared at him as Bakura started walking, moving them swiftly into the bedroom. "I was waiting ages. You could have at least called."

"I did. Twice." Bakura rolled his eyes, depositing Marik back against the pillows and pulling the covers up over his shivering form. "And I sent you three texts. Not my fault you can't find your phone."

"...Oh." Marik frowned. He crossed his arms, turning his face away petulantly when Bakura leaned in for a kiss. "My phone's charging. And you still should have come home sooner."

Bakura straightened with a scoff, his eyes narrowed as he glanced down. "I couldn't. Believe me, I'd much rather be lazing around with you in the apartment all hours of the day and night, but some of us actually have work to do."

"Oh, yes, your 'honest job'," Marik teased. "What was it tonight, the museum again?"

"Oh, hush." Bakura gave him the finger, turning away. "It puts food on the table, doesn't it? Speaking of which, I need to eat." Bakura started for the door, ignoring Marik's whine and the bronze fingers that stretched after him. "Go to sleep. I'll be back soon."

Marik settled back against the pillows with a sigh, his eyes slipping shut more easily now that he wasn't in the flat on his own. He shifted onto his side, one arm sliding out on top of the covers, tugging them snugly around him as he settled down. He didn't sleep yet, though; he would remain awake until his pale partner was in his rightful place, between the sheets at Marik's side. Bakura didn't keep him waiting much longer, either, returning to the bedroom in record time and sliding into place next to Marik. Marik's eyes immediately flew open, waiting until Bakura was settled on his back to throw himself forwards, collapsing on Bakura's chest and settling between his legs. Bakura chuckled softly, his arms slipping up under Marik's shirt and tracing the familiar patterns, bending his knees slightly to better accommodate the sleepy Egyptian. "Did you really miss me that much?"

"Shut up," Marik commanded imperiously, his head falling into its familiar place at the crook of Bakura's neck. "I'm tired."

Bakura chuckled once more before obediently sliding into silence, his fingers finding their way into the tangled blonde mess Marik had for hair. Marik closed his eyes in bliss, breathing in the familiar scent of Bakura's skin, his hands resting comfortably between his own body and Bakura's chest. This was how he slept, now, and all thoughts of the tomb were miles away, the only memories the scars on his back which turned softer with each gentle stroke from Bakura.

Marik was dropping ever-closer to sleep, but he found just enough wakefulness in his tired brain to mutter, "You realise that I'm not expecting to get up at all tomorrow now, seeing as it's so late, right?"

"Are you joking?" Bakura snorted in reply. "I was the one out all night. You have to get up and fix the flat – I seem to recall finding ice-cream on the living room wall. What did you do, throw a hissy fit?"

"It's your fault," Marik pointed out sleepily. "You need to go shopping, too, because there's no food in."

"There's meat," Bakura started, but Marik interrupted him with a whack to the chest. Bakura sighed loudly, his grip tightening around the blonde Egyptian as he spoke. "Fine. We can go get you some crappy vegetarian food in the morning."

"Not morning," Marik mumbled. "I'll be sleeping."

Bakura couldn't stop the smile that rose to his lips at that. There was no denying that Marik was cute when he was tired, and Bakura couldn't resist pushing Marik closer against him, entangling their legs and clasping his own hands behind Marik's back. Marik sighed contentedly, turning his face to the side, his blonde hair fanning across Bakura's pale chest and his arms winding carefully around his neck. Bakura turned his face down to place a slow kiss on the top of Marik's golden head, relishing in every touch, every brush of their skin. He had spent three thousand years in a cold piece of metal, and he craved moments like this; moments that made him feel truly alive.

Marik's breathing had evened out, his eyes firmly shut, his body still and calm rather than restless and shaking, as it was when in the grip of a nightmare. Bakura remained awake for a long time after, though, giving himself the time to study Marik's sleeping features, memorising every rise and crevice of the blonde Egyptian's lithe form. Moments like this were few and far between in the couple's hectic lives, but Bakura treasured each one, committing them to memory. However, Bakura's mind and body were tired tonight, so he found his eyes closing far sooner than he would have liked. His aching muscles gladly accepted the darkness, though, and Bakura soon found himself asleep.

The apartment remained silent well into the next morning, the sun creeping slowly over the windowsill, gradually lighting up the patterns on the wallpaper and the curling edges of the bed. The two entwined figures between the sheets remained wrapped around each other, a pale leg around a bronze waist, blonde hair across a pallid chest, bronze fingers tangled in white hair. The two remained in peaceful slumber as the sun climbed high in the sky, glancing across the busy streets of the city and covering the building in flame-like heat. It wasn't until a particularly noisy car whizzed by the window that Marik finally stirred, his violet-flecked eyes opening reluctantly to meet a familiar frosty chest. He was still enveloped in warmth, both from Bakura and the blankets, and he was absolutely loathe to move. With a disgruntled sigh, Marik pressed one hand into his pale partner's chest, lifting his head just enough to see Bakura's sleeping face, his eyes lightly closed, lips parted a little, air rushing through his gently rising chest, hair splayed out across the pillows. As Marik moved he felt a grip tighten around his back, eliciting a small mewl from between those pale lips.

Marik smiled. "Alright. Looks like we won't be getting up for a while then."

"Mmm..." Bakura trailed off, still mostly asleep as he pulled Marik back down on top of him. Marik gladly complied, burying his head once more in the warm chest of his partner, settling comfortably under the covers. Bakura's grip relaxed once he was back in place, leaving room for Marik to roll slightly, freeing one of his arms to trace complex patterns across Bakura's hairless chest. Marik felt his eyes sliding shut once more, the sunlight a comforting warmth across the sheets as he fell again into sleep.

Thoughts of a golden prison, be it in metal form or buried deep below ground in a tomb, could not have been farther from that room. Both inhabitants had found freedom.


End file.
